


Got You (Where I Want You)

by Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Actually Lightsaberplay, Angst, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Consensual Non-Consent, Dominant Kylo Ren, F/M, Glove Kink, Handcuffs, He Thinks So Anyway, He'll Give it The Old College Try, Knifeplay, Kylo Ren Cries A Lot, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, No Blood or Gore Though, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Roleplay, Safewords, Smut, Spanking, Undernegotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 07:23:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21050531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard/pseuds/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard
Summary: Kylo’s other knee lands on the mattress.  He kneels over her, his legs bracketing her own.  He holds out the binders.“Don’t call me Ben,” he tells her.Rey frowns.  He’s never objected before.“You woke up, and I was already there.  I put the binders on you, and you couldn’t stop me.  That’s how this begins,” he repeats, giving each word a biting intensity.___________Kinktober 2019- handcuffs, glove kink, knifeplay.  For "Terrified Arousal."





	Got You (Where I Want You)

_ Suffer, suffer _

_ Me don't get no rougher _

_ Rub it up, baby girl, torture me like no other _

**-The Flys**

The first time was inevitable. Rey cannot, in retrospect, pick out the moment that grappling turned into groping, and then into a desperate battle for dominance that left them both exhausted, bloody, and covered in love-bites, but it was entirely what she might have expected of herself and Kylo both. She’s only human; she doesn’t deny the attraction that the Dark Side and its avatar have for her. Of course she slept with him. She knew she would from the moment she saw him lumber into her frame of vision missing his shirt and cowl. 

The second time followed close on the first, again predictable from the pattern of her interactions with Kylo. He kissed her sweetly and apologetically and sucked on her breasts for what felt like hours until she called him Ben and pulled him back on top of her. It ended when he came inside her and then promptly asked her again to rule the Galaxy with him.

After the shouting that ensued, Rey would have assumed that a third, fourth, and fifth time would be out of the question. But Kylo has a habit of turning up in her bed and in her ‘fresher while wearing less than all of his clothing, and Rey’s resistance to his charms is less than complete. 

Rey’s realization that there should not be a sixth time comes just before she does. Unfortunately, the epiphany occurs while Kylo has his head buried between her thighs, her clit caught between his full red lips.

“Ben, we can’t keep doing this,” she says to him on a long-suffering sigh. 

He lifts his head just high enough to lock eyes with her. “Just give me a few more minutes, I think I’ve almost got it figured out,” he assures her.

She doesn’t tell him that he figured it out quite some time ago, and the little shocks his mouth sends through her core feel better than anything else ever has. But guilt has her body paralyzed like a lead blanket; she should be plotting this man’s defeat, not his next orgasm. She’s not going to come as long as she’s thinking about the morality of the situation. 

When he lowers his head again and runs his tongue in circles around where she wants it most, Rey groans in dismay and seizes him by the hair

“I mean it,” she says to him. “We can’t. I can’t, at least. I can’t look Poe and Finn in the eye any longer. I need to learn how to say ‘no’ to you. You’re a murderer. A monster. You shouldn’t always get your way.” 

Kylo shakes his head until she releases her hold on his hair. His expression eloquently points out that eating her pussy is scarcely his most selfish act. 

But he only says, “you want this too, though,” in a level voice. He doesn’t move away, but he props himself higher on his elbows to stare down at her. 

Rey flushes. “I shouldn’t, though. I know what you are. I know you’re not going to change for me.” 

He holds himself still, arms not trembling under the strain, while he thinks about that. Her body is throbbing with discontent and arousal. 

“You’re really going to let what other people would think stop the best thing you’ve ever had,” he says, eyes narrowing. 

Rey swallows hard and looks away. 

“Because they’d be right about me,” she says. “They’d say I’m a fool to trust you. And I am.”

With that she pushes him off by his shoulders and rolls to the edge of her bed, scrabbling for her clothes. It’s the middle of the night and she doesn’t have anywhere to go, particularly, but she can’t bear to see his face after she’s hurt him.

She only catches a glimpse of his expression as she pushes their bond closed. It surprises her. He doesn’t look despondent. Maybe a little angry. But most of all thoughtful. It’s an expression that makes her shiver. Kylo’s predictable when he’s in a rage. When he bothers to plan ahead—that’s when he’s dangerous. 

* * *

The familiar rush of the Force wakes Rey up in the middle of the night a few days later. She scrunches her eyes shut, gropes in her bed for Kylo. He isn’t there, even after she rolls over and checks her other side. So she sighs and palms the light strip next to her bed—a pallet, really, wedged in the corner of an electronics compartment—and squints as her eyes adjust.

It takes her a moment to find him. He’s lounging against the opposite wall, fully dressed in his black battle uniform. Rey frowns. He’s been on the same sleep schedule as her for weeks, ever since they…

“It’s late, Ben,” Rey begins, but he cuts her off with a finger over his lips. His expression is blank and guarded. Rey feels a frisson of unease twist in her belly. 

Kylo reaches to an unseen table next to him and retrieves his helmet. He holds eye contact with Rey as he pulls it over his head. Rey sits up a little more in bed. They haven’t tried to kill each other in months, but it’s never totally out of the question. 

“I was already there when you woke up,” Kylo says, his voice distorted through the helmet’s modulators.

“Yes, I know,” Rey says, feeling a little annoyed. “I can see you. What do you want? It’s the middle of the night here.” 

Kylo squares his helmet and pauses, looking her up and down in a way that makes her squirm. He reaches out to the table next to him, and Rey cannot perceive the next object he retrieves until it is in his hands.

It’s a pair of binders. The same kind he placed on her the day they killed Snoke. 

Surprise makes her mouth drop open. What does he think he can do with those? He’s halfway across the Galaxy. He can’t take her anywhere, even if he could subdue her. 

Kylo crosses the distance to her bed and stands over her. He holds out the binders.

“I had the binders on you before you could resist,” his voice hisses through the breathing apparatus. “You had no time to fight back.”

Why was he narrating this as though it had already happened? 

“Ben,” Rey tells him, trying to make her voice neutral and understanding, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing. You know there’s no way you could have put those on me if I hadn’t let you.”

Kylo’s helmet tilts to the side. “Perhaps I do. But does the Resistance? Or will they think that it’s just barely possible…that the monster caught you at last.” 

Rey’s breath feels heavy in her chest. “I shouldn’t have called you that. You’re not a monster.”

Kylo’s knee hits the end of her bed. He’s moving inexorably closer. 

“Ben, if you want us to have a relationship, you know what you have to do,” Rey begins, feeling annoyed that they have to go through this again.

Kylo’s other knee lands on the mattress. He kneels over her, his legs bracketing her own. He holds out the binders.

“Don’t call me Ben,” he tells her. 

Rey frowns. He’s never objected before. 

“You woke up, and I was already there. I put the binders on you, and you couldn’t stop me. That’s how this begins,” he repeats, giving each word a biting intensity. 

She glances down his body. It’s difficult to see in the limited light of the chamber, but under the layers of clothing, his cock is hard and pressing against the restrictions of his belt and trousers. His hands are nearly vibrating in tension around the restraints he holds. 

Rey begins to see where he’s going. A warm, shivery feeling starts to unfurl in her core, but she hesitates. Licks her lips. Reaches up until her fingertips nearly brush his chest. 

“Ben, are you sure…?” she asks. 

Kylo reaches down and takes one unresisting wrist in his gloved grasp. 

“If you call me Ben again, this is going to end. Do you understand? Say whatever else you want, it won’t stop me. Fight back if you like. But if you call me Ben, this is over.”

The silence is complete—neither of them so much as breathes while that statement hangs in the air. 

Rey nods tremulously. 

Kylo snaps the binders over her wrist with a definitive ‘clack.’ 

* * *

Rey doesn't fight back, mostly because she thinks he'd enjoy it too much. There’s a part of her that’s interested to see whether she can pin him without using the Force, without use of her hands. A competitive part of her, not the darker, more self-destructive part that embraces this ruse and eases back on her pallet, unresisting. 

Kylo has her hands pinned together in one wide fist, and he arranges her roughly on the bed, rolling her to her stomach, running his hands over the leggings she sleeps in, muttering to himself, rolling her to her back again.

Eventually, he grasps her thighs and tugs her down to the edge of the bed so that her legs splay open and her feet rest on the floor. Kylo raises his hand and the hilt of his lightsaber flies into his waiting fist. He holds it, unlit, while the dark void of the eye-slit on his mask regards her prone form. 

“You wear too many clothes to sleep, Scavenger,” he says. “If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you cover up those pretty tits.” 

Rey’s breath comes a little quicker. There isn’t a way for her to pull her tank off while she has the binders on. 

“But I suppose you are mine, aren’t you? I can have you if I want you.” 

He ignites the saber. Rey’s hands clench reflexively. She hears the crackle of the overclocked kyber crystal and the hiss of Kylo’s breathing. 

He tilts the sword down at her. “You are going to need to stay very still,” he says. “If you flinch, I’ll burn you, and it will be your fault.” 

Rey doesn’t doubt him, but her breath begins to come in little pants. He bends closer to her and sweeps her loose hair off her shoulders. His gloved fingers pluck at the shirt she wears, then release it disdainfully.

“Rags,” he says in definitive tones. 

He splays one massive hand against her sternum and presses her hard against the mattress. The other hand holds his sword, brings it closer. 

He makes two quick twists of his wrist, and the straps of her shirt part like butter under the spitting cross-guards of his blade. Rey yelps at the closeness of the heat, but when his hand lifts from her chest and sweeps the torn straps away, there isn’t a mark on her.

“Ah, you see?” Kylo chuckles harshly, leaning away from her again. “I’m in complete control. I won’t hurt you unless I mean to.” 

He holds the sword away from them as he reaches with his other hand to tear the shirt down her body and over her feet. Kylo’s hand is on her chest again as soon as the cold air makes her breasts peak—he runs his hand between her breasts and down over her abdomen, lingering over her stomach. The pressure of his palm there is centering. They still there for a moment until her panic fades again, and only the arousal his proximity and her anticipation engender has her breathing fast. 

“Now the rest,” he says, grasping the front of her leggings and hauling them down her thighs. She helps him covertly by twisting on the bed, but looks away when he has her stripped to the ragged pair of underwear that barely covers her. They’re nearly transparent from repeated washings, and frayed ties hold them together over her hips. 

“Not a lot to these,” Kylo points out, fingering the knot over one hip. “I could fuck you right through them. Leave you wet and wearing my cum against you. Is that what I should do?” 

He tilts his head at her, expecting an answer. 

Rey pretends to think about it. Shakes her head no.

“No, I shouldn’t fuck you? Or no, I shouldn’t just pull these aside to do it? Because we both know I’m fucking you, either way.” The modulator in the helmet can’t quite disguise the wobble in his voice. The minor signs of stress in Kylo have the perverse effect of sending a shot of lust through Rey; what is wrong with her, she thinks, that the more they break each other down, the more she wants him?

She tilts her chin up to deny him an answer; he’ll think what he wants about her meaning, as he always does. 

His hand traces across the threadbare fabric from her hip to her cleft. 

“I would have put you in lace and silk,” he mutters. “The finest in the Galaxy. Just for the pleasure of tearing them off you each night. There’s nothing I wouldn’t have given you.”

Rey bites her lower lip. It will do no good to point out that she only ever asked him for one thing, which he wouldn’t give her. They’ve been over it. 

“But you don’t even know the difference, do you? You wouldn’t appreciate it. And why should I bother covering your cunt in silk when it’s softer than anything I could clothe you in?” he continues, stroking one knuckle between her legs. She squirms, and Kylo adjusts his grip on his lightsaber. 

He laughs softly. “I could call you names all day long, but it’s praise that makes you hide your face.” Rey closes her eyes against the truth of his words. 

“If you’re nothing, it doesn’t matter if you let me rut in you all night long. You’re just a desert rat; who would care who’s in your bed? But when I remind you that you should have been my Empress, that’s when you start to sweat.” 

“Don’t,” Rey grits out at him. But his shoulders shake a little in suppressed laughter, because he thinks he’s got her dead to rights now. His knuckle keeps rubbing back and forth across the fabric. Rey clenches her jaws against a groan and closes her eyes. 

“Hardly any reason to leave these on, now,” he says. “You feel absolutely…” he adjusts his position, looms over her, “perfect. Sopping wet.” He leans forward until his helmet is almost pressed between her thighs. His intake of breath rings through the room. “You smell fucking perfect. Through the helmet, even.” One finger crooks around the edges of her panties to trace the outline of her folds. 

“You are going to ruin these gloves,” he says in a more conversational tone, a few moments later. His fingertips have been circling her entrance, carrying her slick almost but not quite to where she really wants it. “But these panties are already soaked.” He pulls them with him when he takes his hand away. 

Rey could almost cry; she didn’t think he handcuffed her just so that he could stroke her to a gentle orgasm, but she’d been nearly there. She tries to close her legs as he withdraws, but he uses the toes of his boots to keep her ankles wide and spread. He looks down at her bare before him; he is a black shape against the faint light of the room, with only the red cracks of his helmet to provide texture to his figure. 

“Take yours off, too,” Rey tells him. “All that armor’s never protected you from me before.”

He wears his scars on his helmet because they’re the ones he made. He covers the rest.

“You first,” he says, and Rey blinks in surprise, because she’s completely nude. The only things she’s wearing are the binders, and they don’t cover much. 

“Oh, you can’t?” he asks. “I think you could still be more bare.” He dips the tip of his lightsaber between her legs, and Rey starts violently away from it. 

“That’s not funny,” she tells him, although she never thought he was doing any of it to be funny, exactly. 

“Luke told me that a Jedi has so much control over his blade that he can shave with it,” Kylo says easily. “Of course, he wore a beard, so maybe he was lying. He lied about a lot of things, you know.”

“I know,” Rey says. “Let’s not test this one.” 

“I’m completely in control,” Kylo says, not sounding very much in control at all anymore. 

He dips the sputtering sword tip closer and closer to her core, and Rey closes her eyes, holds her breath. She has her jaw clenched for the pain before the acrid scent of burning hair even reaches her nostrils. She can’t help but gasp in dismay, but Kylo has already flicked the ignition off when she opens her eyes.

“You don’t trust me,” he accuses her.

“No,” she agrees. 

He tosses the sword somewhere unseen, then flattens his palms on either side of her on the bed.

“You never trust me when you should. But you can’t help but do it when you shouldn’t.” Rey wrinkles her nose at him in confusion. He sits back on his heels and begins to loosen the fingertips of the glove he touched her with. He takes his time with it, never looking away from her naked body. She hears the soft slither of the leather when he pulls it off. His one big hand looks obscenely white and naked against the rest of him. 

“There,” he says in bitter satisfaction. “That’s all I need.” 

Rey wonders how he intends to fuck her, if all he’s taking off is one glove. Maybe he isn’t going to at all. Maybe he’s just going to leave her naked and squirming and bound on this bed while he watches. It’s not like Kylo to tease, but… It does sound like torture. It does sound like punishment. 

“Yes,” Kylo says, and Rey wonders whether he spoke aloud, or whether he heard her thoughts. “You should be punished.”

With the gloved hand, he grasps her hip and rolls her back onto her stomach. Then with both, he pulls her hips back to him.

The backs of her thighs brush against his clothed hips, but his gloved hand pushes her shoulders down into the mattress. Her cheek is shoved against her wrinkled bedsheets. 

The thumb of Kylo’s opposite hand brushes against her buttocks almost delicately, followed by caress of the soft leather of his discarded glove.

“You lied to me,” he tells her. 

That statement hangs in the air. There’s nothing for Rey to do but grip the sheets and wonder what he has planned. 

The leather of Kylo’s gloves is thick and rich, like all his clothing. It really takes a lot of force to get it to crack. Kylo’s got his whole shoulder into it as he brings the glove down across her ass. He grunts the first time he strikes her with the glove. Rey presses her lips together, damned if she’ll give him a sound. 

“You said you’d _ help _me,” he yells at her, his voice cracking with the release of tension. 

Rey’s body jolts from the force of his arm. But she’s scrambling to get back on her knees before the next blow of the glove hits. 

“You said I wasn’t _ alone _,” he yells again, snapping the glove against her a third time. 

He picks up a rhythm of shifting the glove from hand to hand so that he can make matching marks on each side of her ass. The swats come at regular intervals as he continues to shout at her. It’s far from broken, but the skin he’s been striking feels hot and tight and swollen when he finally stops, breathing heavily. Rey makes a noise of protest, and he runs his palm soothingly over her. 

“You can take it,” he says in a cooler tone. “You’d rather fight me than fuck me, isn’t that right?” 

His fingers rub against her again, though, and even if Rey couldn’t feel the way they slide where she is already hot and wet, they make a slick sound before he pulls them away.

“But you still want to fuck me,” he says, sounding mollified. 

He drops the glove on the bed next to her. Rey can hear the rustling of his clothing as he undoes the catches in his tunic and trousers. Still, it’s a surprise when she feels the silky heat of his cock prod against her. 

“Maybe this is all I want from you now too,” he hisses, curving his body over hers. “Maybe this is all there is left.” The padded, pin-tucked fabric of his tunic is rough against her as he brackets her torso with his arms. It’s difficult for her to support herself on her bound wrists with his added weight pressing against her back, but Rey steadies herself just the same. 

The metal of his helmet presses against her shoulder when he thrusts into her. Rey gasps at the stretch; as wet as she is, he’s not trying to make it easy for her, and it burns like his lightsaber did not. She reflexively thrusts her hips forward in response, and Kylo’s cock slips back out of her. 

She hears him make a little huff of derision, and he pushes her further up the bed by a few inches. It dips under his weight as he crawls up behind her. His palms run down her back—one bare, one still gloved—and come to rest on her hips. 

“Better brace yourself, Scavenger,” he advises before lining himself up again. Rey squeezes her eyes shut. Despite his words, he’s gentler about it this time; he thrusts into her more carefully, going deeper on each stroke, until his cock slides in and out of her easily. The sigh of his breath through the helmet is more satisfied. 

She expects him to pick up his pace then, resigns herself to being fucked into her mattress by the big angry man he wants to be today, but instead she feels him leaning back away from her. She spares a look over her shoulder and sees that he’s sitting on his heels behind her. 

“Here,” he says roughly, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back onto his lap. Her legs have to split so far apart around his thighs that the stretch pulls at the ligaments in her hips, but her weight is off her arms, at least. 

The position is more intimate than she wants, though; she’s pressed against his entire body, and his cock is jutting so deep that she imagines she’ll feel its shape inside her for days. 

Kylo’s arms go tightly around her; one hand presses below her navel, covering the place where he is inside her. The other dips between her legs, traces the hood of her clit.

She can’t ignore the rasp of his breathing in her ear through the mask, and she can’t stop the way her cunt clenches around him with every small press of his fingers and thrust of his cock. She wishes he’d put her back down, take whatever he’s come to get from her tonight and leave her again. He broke her heart on the deck of the Finalizer, and now they’re just rolling in the jagged pieces of it. 

“Why are you trying to make me come?” she blurts out when he starts to play with her clit. “Why do you care?”

“Maybe I just like the way it feels on my cock,” he parries back. He rubs more intently, and she bites back a moan. It’s embarrassing, how little control she has. She should be spitting at him, not rubbing her ass along his thighs in encouragement. 

But then he says, “I’ve always given you everything you needed. I can do this too.” 

Rey wants to laugh and cry at once at the distance between what he thinks she needs and what she actually does. And the further gap between what he needs and what he wants. 

“You’ve got me tied up and bouncing on your prick, isn’t that what _ you _wanted?” she sputters. 

He lifts one massive hand to her breast, pinches a nipple between his finger and thumb. The other continues to bring her closer and closer to the breaking point.

“I just want you,” he grunts into her ear. “Whatever it takes.” His breathing is ragged but his body is hard and sure underneath her. 

The chin-guard of his helmet keeps banging against her shoulder. 

Rey’s positive she could come if he would just keep a steady rhythm and stop chafing her back with his stupid helmet, but both of those things seem less and less probable. Her resistance to him, the blockade she has around her feelings, the stiff insistence that this act is about nothing more than his dark desires--all are falling apart. And so is he; Rey can hear his breathing stutter into something she strongly suspects are sobs. 

Perfect timing, as always. His conscience overcomes him while he’s balls-deep inside her and their coupling is approaching something like a resolution. 

Rey pushes down the part of her that wants to spin and claw him for putting her in this position. It’s absurd, but it’s not the worst thing he’s ever done to her or to himself. The anger will always be there when she needs it. She doesn’t need to tend it right now. 

“Ben,” she says as calmly as she can (and she is not calm, she is seething, she wants, and she burns, and she is always the one who has to put it aside when he has disappointed her). “You can stop.” 

He freezes when she says his name. Rey slides forward, off of him. She lands in a crouch. He fumbles at the release on her cuffs and they pop apart. Then he scrabbles at the neck of his helmet until he can yank it free. 

Kylo’s breathing as heavily as though he just ran a long distance. His beautiful hair is wet and matted to the sides of his face with sweat and tears. Rey cocks her head as she considers his expression: this is what he looks like whilst having a panic attack, she thinks. 

The dark of the room and his hair frame the white oval of his face. A small point of luminosity in the black. The other is his hand, cupping himself where he is still hard. They’re both still drawn tense like nocked bows. If they leave each other now, it will be difficult to ever find their way back, Rey thinks. He’ll go smash something in a rage, she’ll respond in kind. People will die. 

If she can’t understand this small thing between them, how will there ever be peace between the forces of the First Order and the Resistance? So she sighs and lies back and opens her arms to him again. And he goes instantly and gratefully to her. He crawls up her body, leaking tears along her stomach and breasts. She helps him pull apart his tunic and his trousers until he can press his big body along hers, their bodies reflecting and doubling their heat where they touch. He’s not exactly gentle with her, but he’s careful when he lifts her calf over his shoulder and enters her again. Her body is almost over-sensitized at this point; she’s slick and swollen and she can feel him in every crevice of her core. Kylo pants open-mouthed against the side of her neck in wet and teeth. 

Her fingernails dig into his scar when she finally comes. Her body unwinds like a child’s toy around him—she could draw blood where she has her hands clenching his shoulders in tempo with her cunt, but she’s too practical to let her nails grow. He flinches as though she has cut him though, at last using his leverage to hold her flat on the bed as he arches his own back and, after a few unsteady thrusts, empties into her. Then he collapses. 

He says nothing, even though he could really roll off of her any moment now. His cock is softening by degrees in shivers like butterfly wings inside her. Their hearts thud at each other through their chests.

“Am I too heavy?” he asks quietly, and she knows he means, ‘do I have to go?’ 

“No, you’re not,” she says, tears suddenly pricking her eyes. She wraps her arms around his neck and holds on. 

He exhales, burrowing his face into her hair. 

They never mean to hurt each other. Every single time, he’s come to her with open hands and his heart exposed, and she ends up bleeding and alone. But Rey doesn’t worry so much about getting hurt herself. She worries about Ben hurting himself on her. 

He shifts on top of her, hand reaching for hers. The Force will part them any second now. She’ll be no worse for wear. She’ll get up in a few hours and work. He’ll still be alone.

The next time, she’ll try putting him in the binders. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kinkshame me @YTCShepard


End file.
